


Of Baths, Braids and Beads: A Study in Courtship

by Arken_Stone1



Series: How To Make A Hobbit Do Things In Five Minutes Or Less [11]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arken_Stone1/pseuds/Arken_Stone1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lately, Thorin Oakenshield has been losing sleep dreaming about all of the things he and Bella could be. Bella has is perplexed by his mixed signals and whiplash mood swings regarding his opinion of her.  At the river, baths, braids and beads come into play.  Ohh, myy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Baths, Braids and Beads: A Study in Courtship

Note: this portion of the “How To” series is inspired by the song, “Counting Stars” by One Republic. If you have a chance to listen to the song before you read this I think that it will enhance the story's experience.

The Hobbit and all recognizable characters are property of the J.R.R. Tolkien Estate and New Line Cinema. No infringement intended.

 

 

The sky was a clear, vibrant blue as the morning sun shone brightly into the clearing. While the other Dwarves were helping one another free themselves of the bond, I stood there like a fool waiting for help. I realized that if I were truly part of the Company, then I needed to learn to help myself and not depend on some hard-headed Dwarrows to save me everytime distress followed me like a shadow. 

My hands and feet were free within the confines of the bag, but the burlap was so tight around me that I had little room to maneuver. However, being of the feminine persuasion, I have the ability to move in and out of shifts and pantaloons fast than Dwarves can remove their braes for a bearded lass. The very thought that the the Troll had express that I was stocky, stout and hairy was outrageous to me. By the Valar, Hobbits were meant to have fine fur on their feet not beards on their faces. My burgundy outer coat stuck to my skin thanks to my baptism by mucus secretion complements of “Tom.”

I slowly rotated my right shoulder so that I had my outer sleeve pulled somewhat down over my forearm. Reaching tightly behind me with my left hand, I tugged at the cuff until the sleeve made its way off my arm. I shimmied slightly within the burlap until the right half of my outer coat fell behind me. It had been a long time since I'd moved in such as fashion, but it hadn't been more than a few seasons prior I had danced in the taverns of men for a few coins to pay for the last year of my cartography apprenticeship. I brought my right arm up through the tight closing of the back cinched in a tight knot around my neck.

I hated Troll knots, far too tight for me to work out easily. I rolled my left shoulder, leaning into the angle so that if fell halfway down my arm. It took me a few minutes, but I was able to remove it from my arm as I had the other. With both arms free, I brought them up to the thick, heavy rope keeping the burlap tight around me. My fingers were stiff and sore, but after several expletives and a exasperated sighs, I loosened the knot.

“Mistress Baggins, let me assist you,” a deep voice addressed me. I looked up from my task to see Thorin Oakenshield smirking at my situation. His eyes twinkled with amusement as a smirk tugged at the side of his mouth. Long, black hair streaked with silver glinted in the morning sun and I stood there three feet away wrapped in burlap and covered in snot while he looked majestic.

“No, no, no!” I protested, hopping away. I didn't want him to think that the useless little Hobbit needed his help. To be frank, I didn't want the arrogant sod's help. The others saw me as female and in need of protection while others in the company appreciated my talents and skills. Balin treated me with respect and didn't consider me a fool. Bofur was kind to everyone and Bombur and I always traded good recipes. Dwalin didn't think much of me and that was simply fine because he had all the refinement of a walrus at a tea party. Yet, within my bosom, my hackles rose at the thought that I might have slight feelings of affection for a Dwarvin Prince who thought little enough of me to think me useless. I'll be damned if I needed his help. I wasn't going to wilt like a young violet, shrinking in the sun. I was a strong, independent Hobbitess who didn't need some Prince's help. “I have it, thank you.”

“You look like a youngling in her first sack race,” he chuckled, laying his hands on my shoulders. “Peace, Mistress Baggins, I see you have the knot well in hand, but as a good member of this company I cannot stand by idly and help another member still in need.”

“It is much appreciated, Master Dwarf,” I said as politely as I could while shirking his hands off of me. Even through the heavy burlap, his touch was solid and strong. For a moment, I wondered how those callused, forge-hewn hands would feel against my skin. Bella, get your head out of your pantaloons and stay focused, I told myself harshly. “But I'm almost done.”

“Let me,” he nodded, letting his thick fingers quickly tug the still-tight knot on the burlap. What had taken me several minutes to loosen he had undone in seconds. I glowered at him because I had politely declined and, still, he insisted on interfering. “There, you're free.”

Thorin pulled loose the rope and removed the bag from my body. I realized that I was glad to be out of my burlap cocoon and grumbled, “Thank you for your assistance.”

“You are need of a bath,” he noted. “You reek.”

“Indeed,” I agreed, chuckling at the pair we made. 

“Your hair is a mess,” Thorin gave me a quick glance. "I've seen birds' nests look better."

“Thank you for stating the obvious,” I snapped. His thick brows furrowed in disdain at my comment. “Look, thank you for helping me. I know I look a fright and that shouldn't matter right now, but, before we leave, I'd like to take a quick dip in the river nearby just to be clean. You're not the one a Troll used as a handkerchief”

“Agreed,” Thorin nodded once. “I shall go with you.”

“It's not appropriate for a male to see me naked,” I protested, hot flushes of embarrassment turning my cheeks bright cherry, I knew it. Hobbits are constant blushers and I am no exception. 

“It isn't appropriate for the leader of this company to leave the most vulnerable unprotected,” he countered. “Your virtue is safe with me, Mistress.”

Part of me wished that it weren't at that moment.

Thorin followed me to the river and I felt the early morning chill against my skin. Without saying a word, he removed his coat and wrapped it around my shoulders. I tilted my head to the side in silent questions, trying to understand why he did such a thing. It wasn't as though I were cold, in fact, just the opposite.

“You're shivering Mistress Hobbit,” he informed me as I felt the worn velvet and fur wrap around my shoulders. The hem of it hung on the ground because Thorin stood head and shoulders over me. “I can't have our burglar becoming ill during the quest.”

I let my fingers graze the velvet, threadbare in some place, but still showing remnants of the the geometric patterns quite popular in Dwarven culture. The scent of leather, earth, soot and stone rose from the fur and I turned my head to inhale deeply of it. It was the one and only time I'd ever know what it felt like to be this close to Thorin Oakenshield and have a part of him wrapped around me. 

I felt a sturdy hand on my elbow as helped me down the embankment to the river. I went behind the large rock to disrobe and I returned his traveling coat to him. “Hand me your garments, Halfing.”

His voice sounded unusually gruff compared to earlier when we walked to the river. He turned his head and coughed, averting his eyes to the ground. I made a mad dash to the river, knowing it would be absolutely frigid and make my skin pucker. However, rather than feeling further chills sink into the my skin, the water was warm, almost hot against me. I ducked beneath the current for several seconds to rinse my hair before coming up for air. I pushed wet brown curls away from my eyes and found Thorin leaning against the large boulder, eyes looking anywhere but toward the river. 

“Thorin,” I called to him and his eyes darted to mine. His eyes never moved from me, but I saw them widen infinitesimally. I knew about the ways of males, be they Men, Dwarrows or Hobbits, to know when one lusted or disdained a female. This particular Dwarvin Prince wore a stoic face, but the intensity of his stare told me while he might find me useless, he found me comely. That gave me some small measure of satisfaction, but I understood that one can disdain another while their loins adore them. “Could you hand me my soap? It's in the pocket of my skirt?”

“Of course,” he said tersely, looking through my still-damp clothing. He kept his eyes focused on the ground and his body slightly turned away from me as he held out the soap. “You will do well to remember to take with you next time, Hal fling.”

“Thank you, Thorin.” I waded in the unusually warm water. He turned his back to me and I thought I heard him grumble about his braes being too tight. “Thorin, what did you say?”

“I need to look for the other Trolls this morning while we still have light,” he said quickly over his shoulder, his profile perfect and noble in an unpretentious way. I studied his features and noticed that his features were straighter, more angular and refined than his Dwarvin brethren. Fili his golden-haired nephew shared his features and structure despite being blonde while Kili had his Uncle's swarthy, brooding demeanor. All three were uncommonly tall for Dwarves and my deducting mind began pondering if a bit of Elvin or Human blood flowed unknown through the Line of Durin. Perhaps, a dalliance with an innocent maid a century or so back had brought some refinement to Thorin's clan. 

I caught a slight protrusion in the fabric and now I blushed. I knew I hadn't heard him wrong; Hobbit hearing is acute and accurate unless one is over one hundred. He was a man of dignity and pride, honor and courage. Yes, he was arrogant and brooding, but he was, foremost, a gentleman. “The water is rather warm.”

“Yes,” he coughed, quickly turning away from me and folding his traveling coat over his arm, holding it to his waist. “There are hot springs nearby and they flow into the river. My people often traveled from here on the trade routes to the lands of Men.”

“I see,” I nodded, taking the soap and lathering my hair. I washed all the dirt and residue from my body, enjoying the warmth seeping into my bones and chasing away to chill. I watched him make his way further down the river with my clothes, leaving me with nothing to wear when I left the water. “Say there, Thorin! What are you doing?”

“Your clothes are filthy, Hobbit, and are in need of washing,” he said gruffly. He pointed to a pile of clothing setting by the bolder. “Balin had extra garments available and he is closest to you height. You will don those until your clothes dry.”

I watched Thorin several yards downstream take soap to my traveling coat, undergarments and skirts to remove Tom's secretions from them. I swam further to watch. “So, why are washing my clothes? Why not sent Fili or Kili or even Balin?”

“Balin is needed back at camp to help keep things in hand,” Thorin barked. “Kili can attend to other things. He is too easily distracted by your-”  
He stopped abruptly mid-sentence.

“Distracted by my what?” I prompted. What on Adra would prompt Kili to forget himself in my presence.

“He finds you . . .beautiful,” Thorin's deep voice rumbled low in his chest.

“Me?” I squeaked, genuinely surprised by that revelation. I thought back to the previous night, his ardor to protect me and he being the first to dash forward to protect me had it not been for Thorin's wise intervention. I knew Kili was a flirt, but it had never occurred to me that he saw me anything other than as a traveling companion. “Oh! But, you don't?”

I couldn't twist the barb just a bit into Thorin's arrogant hide.

“I never said that!” he huffed, looking at me for one moment and his eyes had darkened to cobalt, reminding me of a lightning storm lingering just off the horizon on a hot summer day. “I am . . .not immune to you, Mistress, but I am a Dwarf of older years in comparison to my nephew and not prone to rash acts and declarations. Now, are you quite done? If so, dress yourself.”

“Fine, then.” I said, half-tempted by my Tookish side to stride out of the river in nothing more than the nakedness I had just to irk him further, but decided that would be rude beyond measure. In his own antiquated way, Thorin was being honorable by me and I wasn't one to be insulted by a gentleman's manners, even if they were a bit outdated. Still, I couldn't resist one barb or confession, and to this day I'm not sure which I meant it to be. “You are beautiful as well, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Dwarves are not beautiful and say not such things, Mistress.” he growled. “Had you said such brazen things to Kili-”

“I'd never say something like that to him, only you.” I confessed. “I think you have hair that hair is thick and I want to run my fingers through it. I look into your eyes and I see sapphires.”

“Dress yourself, Hobbit and be quick about it. You test my patience.”

“You mean your reserve?” I poked. “I thought myself made until today, but now I know it to be true. You fancy me.”

“You vex me much, Hobbit.” Thorin's voice was low and menacing. “Do not push me beyond my good judgment.”

“I meant what I said, you are beautiful.” I swam away, feeling ten times the fool for letting my Tookish side take control of my good Baggins sense. I dried myself and downed the loose britches and shirt provided by Balin. Luckily, I had packed extra undergarments before the start of the adventure, so I wasn't completely bereft of clothing. 

A few minutes later, my clothes lay drying on the rocks in the early morning sun. He leaned against a larger boulder, arms crossed and head turned away from me. “I'm sorry, Thorin, I spoke out of turn and it will not happen again.”

“No, it will not.” he growled. “You chose to tempt me and now I choose to indulge.”

I gulped. I saw intent in his eyes but not sure what it was. Did he mean to have his way? While I though him handsome, I certainly hadn't asked for him to bed me.

“Nay, Mistress Baggins, I have not that in mind. My women ask for me,” he said with more than a hint of pride. “I take not what isn't given. Now, sit.”

Thorin sat on a boulder that came to waist-height, fairly flat on top. Spreading his thighs apart, he motioned me to sit between them. “I am doing this as much for your honor as for the well-being of my Company.”

He reached into my traveling bag, pulling out my brush and comb. Thorin took comb in hand and began working it gently through my thick curls that had grown quickly in the weeks since our adventure began. I felt tangles and snarls fight against the comb's teeth, but gently he worked them out with his fingers until the come ran effortless through my wet mop of brown hair. I felt his callused fingertips kneading my scalp, starting at the top and front of my brow and slowly working back toward the nape of my neck where I found I was quite sensitive.

“What are you doing, Thorin?”

“Tempting you as you have me, Halfling.” Thorin leaned forward, murmuring in my ear. “I want you to feel my touch in the most intimate of ways as my fingers work my way through your curls until I find that tender skin beneath. It will also relax you for what is to come.”

“C-come?” I stammered. He was massaging my scalp, but he described it as it were far more familiar and sexual.

“Yes, we both know that we have a connected destiny, Belladonna.” I shivered as my formal name rolled form Thorin's tongue like a sacred prayer. “It is the way of my people to have long, elaborate courtships bound by ritual and tradition. However, we are traveling on a quest under urgent circumstances. With your permission, let me braid your hair in the custom of my people to show that I am courting you.”

“Courting me?” I scoffed. “Thorin Oakenshield, you can barely stand me! Oh, please, Master Dwarf!”

“I find you vexing with your fussiness and your barbed retorts,” Thorin admitted. “You are stubborn and prideful to a fault and quite vain as any female I've met.”

“And aren't you just the embodiment of all masculine virtue?” I retorted. “Yes, you are Mahal's gift to females, everywhere, aren't you? Let me guess, what you lack in stature you make up for with a rather large member, is that it?”

“Not to mention your utter lack of propriety at the oddest times, but it must be a Hobbit habit,” Thorin said as he wound his thick fingers through my unruly hair. “Have you the silver bead that you found in your bed?”

“How do you know about it?”

“Because I dreamt that I was in your bed and I gave it to you,” his voice was as velvety as his coat against my ear. “Do you have it?” 

“In my traveling bag,” I reached for it. “You don't like me, so why go to all of these pretense? No one in your party is going to hurt me.”

“I know this, but it will keep their attention properly focused if they know that you aren't available,” Thorin slowly admitted. “And you're wrong, there is much to like about you if only you would allow one to do so. You're clever, quick-witted, helpful and resourceful. I know that you mended the tear in Bofur's hat and darned the hole in Gloin's sock. When you're not being prickly as a hedgehog, one sees glimpses of the sweet-hearted Lass beneath that bristly armor you wear like a badge of honor.”

I felt his digits plunge into my curls, tugging and pulling at them, weaving them into intricate patterns as we conversed. I learned of his younger sister Dis and the Dwarvin exodus from Erebor sixty years prior. I told him of my beloved books, my garden and my love of flowers. The adversity slowly ebbed from us and we talked as if we were friends. He and I both share a love of fresh-baked bread and of good cheese and wine. He told me he played the harp and I admitted that I played the recorder. Unfortunately, I hadn't packed mine for our adventure, but neither was he carrying a spare harp in his traveling pouch. I melted back into his touch, leaning against his thigh as he completed the intricate plaits in my hair. “Does this mean you own me?”

“It means you've consented for me to court you, Bella,” Thorin gently amended. “Courtship is a choice to avoid temptation and experience the opportunity of learning about one another. It allows us to build trust and to give our hearts to one another while honoring the other with respect and courtesy. I want you badly, Bella Baggins, but I want to adore you more so than desire you. Let me learn your ways, Hobbit and let me share mine. You will not regret it. I am not one of impulsive emotion, but of deep devotion if given the opportunity.”

“Oh,” I gasped, my eyes stung with the sweetness and sincerity of his honest declaration. I expected many things of Thorin Oakenshield: roughness, arrogance, disdain. I hadn't expected this open honesty within his heart, his simplicity and strength hidden in his heart, and the gentleness he displayed as he braided my hair. I felt flutters in my stomach like one feels when standing to close of a cliff high above the ground and looking down to the depths below. It flowed through my veins as his thumbs brushed against the tense muscles in my neck.

“And, in turn, little Hobbit, let me know you so that I will no longer doubt you,” he said softly. I wasn't sure if it was a request or a demand, but the liquid pleasure filled my heart and spread out to my limbs and I could no longer contain the shiver that coursed through my body. My breath caught in my throat as he slipped the silver bead into place. “Bella, let me trust you so that I may love you.”

I turned my face into his palm and let my lips linger there against the rough calluses. I heard a low groan erupt in his chest, barely discernible to my ears. I looked back at him and heard Thorin's slow, labored breathing. “Are you all right?”

“Are you?” 

“I, uh,” I wasn't about to say that I had just fallen off that proverbial cliff because a handsome Dwarvin Prince had just braided my hair. “don't know how quite to answer that.”

“If it is of any consequence, Belladonna, I took am now needing a bath in the river, especially in colder waters,” he laughed softly in my ear. He pulled out a small pocket mirror, not a common item carried on the road because they were line with silver and quite expensive. Then again, he was a smith and a prince by trade, so it made perfect sense for him to be able to afford one. He pulled a portion of the braid toward the front for me to see. “I made small braids from the curliest tresses atop your head, interweaving them into a lattice for both function an beauty. The braid itself only means that we have bound ourselves together out of choice, not obligation. The bead is something I made before Erebor fell to Smaug and I've carried it with me always. It is my first gift to you.”

“I have nothing to give you and are you sure this is wise?” I asked. “Oh, and by the way, these braids are beautiful. I've never worn anything so lavish.”

“Shh, little Hobbit,” Thorin brought his index finger to my lips. “Loyalty. Honor. A willing heart . . . can ask no more than that for now. Each day we will take as it comes, Men Kala.”

“Men Kala,” the words were strong consonants and pure vowels. “What did you just say?”

“In the language of my people, it means, “My One.” Thorin said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Come, we need to return to camp. We have much to do today.”

“So, it seems,” was all I could say, given the sudden shift of our association within the past twenty-four hours. I shook my head at the speed and complexity of this unexpected turn of events. “Do you still need a cold bath?”

“I-prefer not to answer, Mistress Baggins.” That degree of formality in his dress said that he needed dumped in a whiskey barrel filled with ice and snow. I smiled. “For now we have business to attend.”

“Agreed,” I answered as he draped his coat over my shoulders, carrying my still-damp clothes in his arms as we returned to the clearing. Oh, how I wanted to feel his fingers along my skin again, branding me with their strong touch. I heard my breathing catch in my throat and I felt Thorin's forearm catch me around the waist, pulling me behind the trunk of a large oak tree.

He braced himself against the study oak trunk, bringing his lips to mine, stealing my warmth and breath with our first taste of one another. In Balin's britches, it is easy for the Dwarvin Prince to pick me up, spread my thighs and set me against him in one deft motion. He held my small thighs in his huge hands, hitching me so that my core settled seamlessly against the length of him concealed against the leather of his braes. Dwarves are much larger than Hobbits in size and stature and I wondered how he could possibly fit within me. I felt him undulate against me in a move that no innocent male knows. It wasn't the thrust of some hungry, untried virgin but that one experienced in the ways of love play and bed sport.

I moaned, deepening the kiss, and I felt my head fall back to be cradled in his embrace. My throat lay bare to him and he blazed a trail of teasing kisses and gentle suckling, marking me. He groaned as ground against me with only fabric separating us. Thorin whispered hotly in my ear, “Bella, with time and trust, we could be this way so completely. Trust in this fire, in this feeling growing between us. Remember this moment between us if you doubt my desire or my emotions. Dwarves are not ones to indulge in dalliances for we love only once and it is a fierce love. I fear, Hobbit, that it would consume you.”

“A Hobbit's love might give you peace and joy,” I countered. “But, how do you know?”

“I do not,” Thorin bowed his head, resting his brow against mine before gently lowering me to my feet. “Forgive me, Bella, I don't know what came over me.”

“It's called passion, Thorin, and I'm not unfamiliar with it,” I shrugged. “We Hobbits aren't as conservative as Dwarves in the ways of love play. So, I might be able to show you a thing or two. Think about that!”

“What?” His eyes widened and his jaw fell slack as I took my wet coat from him before I pressed a lingering kiss into his cheek. I ducked behind a rock, putting on my slightly damp clothes and handing him Balin's neatly folded garments. I took off his heavy velvet traveling coat and put it into his arms. “Now, that I know I'm not quite insane, we shall see what happens next. Thank you.”

I left Thorin there with his own befuddlement as I went with the other Dwarves to find the Troll-horde. If the others noticed the braid, they said nothing, but treated me with a new camaraderie and respect that I hadn't, yet, experienced from all in the party. As we explored the nooks and crannies of the area for the better part of the morning, I saw Gandalf give Stone Tom the Troll a solid knock on the head with the top of his Wizard's staff. “Ah!”

I watched Thorin come from behind the tree where we had so passionately kissed, striding toward Gandalf and looking completely tidy and unaffected. How did he do that?

“Where did you go, if I may ask?” he addressed Gandalf.

“I went ahead to look at things,” Gandalf answered without pretense.

“Why did you return?”

“To look back,” Gandalf replied.

“I see,” Thorin nodded in agreement. 

“Nasty business,” the Wizard said. “Still, all are unharmed and that is a good thing.”

“No thanks to your burglar,” Thorin wryly commented.

“Don't you mean our burglar?” Gandalf pressed, nodding in my direction him prompted me to return my attention to an innocuous rock about the size of a small chair. “She used her good sense and stalled for time. No one else thought of doing that.”

“Agreed,” Thorin nodded grudgingly.

“I see that she is sporting a new style this morning,” I heard Gandalf say and I wanted to crawl under that rock and hide. “Did you use your good sense and declare your intent?”

“And . . .a bit more,” Thorin huffed, his glance away from Gandalf.

“And will there be any Dwobbits in the near future that I need to worry about?”  
“Gandalf!” The look of mortification on Thorin's face at that brazen question prompted a giggle from me that I barely stifled in time. He spoke the Wizard's name as an admonishment and a warning.

“The trolls must have come down from the Ettinmoors,” Gandalf abruptly changed the subject. 

“Since when do Mountain Trolls venture this far south?”

“Oh,” Gandalf shook his head, “it's been centuries. Last time was long ago when evil roamed these lands.”

I knew that this adventure suddenly had become more complicated.

“It was impossible for the Trolls to travel in daylight,” Gandalf mused, studying the surrounding area. 

“There must be a cave nearby,” my Thorin said. Within minutes, the company had been gathered to look for a cave rather than just a horde stashed under rocks and we found the Troll's hiding place within the hour. 

Yet, my attention was divided between our quest and the events by the river earlier that morning. Once I contemplated the Trolls, the danger, the near-death experience we shared, the bath, the braids, the bead and the forest snogging, I did what any sensible Hobbit would do: I fainted.

 

To Be Continued....

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always one for a good braid, bead, courtship fic. This one was inspired by a Paul Mitchell interview and the song "Counting Stars" by One Republic.


End file.
